


Yes, Please

by suqua (cwsunrise)



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Barista Phil, Clint's arms go on fo daaaays, M/M, Modern Royalty, Prince Clint
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-14
Updated: 2014-11-14
Packaged: 2018-02-25 08:31:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2615159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cwsunrise/pseuds/suqua
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil Coulson, barista. Clint, just that one hot regular?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yes, Please

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jeremy-ruiner](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=jeremy-ruiner).



> Summary of the Americas AU: USA not united as one country, but as multiple countries. The country in this fic is known as the Heartland. We do not go into detail here.
> 
> Based off a prompt I received on tumblr by jeremy-ruiner six months prior to posting this, the same week i had an offer to work as a barista that i also accepted
> 
> obviously i took the job as a method of researching for this 1.2k fanfic..........
> 
> I wrote 4 different versions since but abandoned them all because I wasn't happy with them or they demanded a novel-sized story that I don't have the energy to write.

"Yes, please," Phil murmurs, watching after the man who had picked up his Americano with a half-wry grin and a gruff 'thank you'.

Skye looks up from her slowly steaming  pitcher of milk, the wand making a horrible screeching noise as her hand relaxes just enough. "Did you just-?" is all she gets out before she's swearing softly and trying to recover the pitcher before the milk is burnt. Too late. “You were ogling!”

Phil's ears burn as he pours her a new pitcher, she dumps the heavily bubbled one down the sink. "You are a very bad influence on me," he informs her, leaning around to prep a different drink.

"It's okay. Those arms go on fo' daaays," Skye croons, giving him not only a meaningful look but the eyebrows as well.

"That-," Phil shakes his head, "That shouldn't even make sense."

He doesn't want to let himself think about those arms, anyway. Or his body in general. But wow, his body- Okay, Phil had tons of work to do!

Phil doesn't know which of them is more pleased when Mr. Arms-for-Days-Americano, also known as Clint, becomes a regular. Most often in casual clothing and occasionally, to Phil's agony, in a revealing jogging outfit.

Skye delights in passing him a cup and telling him, " _Clint_ will have his usual, _Phil_." Extra meaningfully.

When they connect at the end of the espresso bar, those handful of seconds while the espresso pours, Phil finds out a handful of things. Clint likes quiet places, like their coffee shop. He almost always has a 'thing' on the weekend he's not looking forward to, cites 'getting dolled up' as why. He's a jeans and t-shirt kinda guy, he says.

It takes a lot of those awkward little thirty second conversations for Phil to even think about making a move. So he does the only thing he can think of, which still is kind of a terrible move.

"Phil's got your drink today," Skye says, oh so gleeful.

Phil's stomach flips over when Clint looks over at him with raised brows. It does another one when Clint's entire face swiftly changes into a brilliant smile. He walks over to stand on the opposite side of the bar from Phil, Skye making one of her 'I can't even' faces at him.

It's a victory. Clint writes his number in sharpie on a cup sleeve, tells Phil he knows somewhere that makes amazing pasta.

Phil says he'll let him know when he has a night off.

 

* * *

 

Phil doesn't get a night off. _For a while_. Things happen.

Then, a miracle. Phil clocks out early one Saturday, mid-evening, and he doesn't know what it is... The traffic has slowed down enough that he sits in their front lobby, fiddling with his phone.

Maybe it's the caffeine in his bloodstream that emboldens him. He sends a text.

_Free tonight? Phil_

Phil expects a no, since it's last minute. He's impossibly positive, usually, but a tiny part of him can't help but feel anxious. He gets a response back very quickly, actually.

_YES omw._

A long time passes. Twenty minutes, but it seems like a long time. Phil wonders if he should have gone home, changed out of his coffee-scented black button up. He knows he has flecks of mocha dotting his arms like freckles, its very possible that there is drying whipped cream on his shoes. He’s not exactly dressed for a first date.

Phil looks up at the door at the right time to see Clint walk in. Not in the usual t-shirt and jeans, no.

Military blues.

Every bit of Clint’s military uniform is starched, shoes shined and perfect. It was incredibly well-fitted. Phil's throat goes dry.

Clint just beams like it's no big deal, striding over to Phil's chair and stopped right in front of him, heels together and almost sliding into parade rest. "Thank god you texted me, I was bored out of my skull. Let's go."

"...You're a little overdressed," Phil points out, eyebrows raised.

Looking down at the uniform for a second, Clint shrugs. "Well... I have to wear this pretty often, better get used to it."

"You wear that all the time?"

Clint shrugs. “Kind of comes with the job.”

That intrigues Phil, since Clint has talked mostly vaguely about being bothered by work but not specifics. “What is that, by the way?”

Skye appears at Phil's elbow like some kind of ninja. "Wait. Wait wait wait. Are you being serious right now," she asks, looking at Phil like he's crazy.

Phil has no idea what she’s talking about, but he can't formulate a response fast enough before she turns to Clint.

"He doesn't know who you are," she said, almost apologetic. "I mean he knows you're Clint and he totally has a huge crush on you, but..."

"Skye!" Phil's bright red.

Clint's making an 'oh' expression, which quickly adjusts into a wide grin. "Yeah?"

Faltering, Phil looks between Skye and Clint.

Eventually, Skye takes pity on him. She gestures toward Clint, which is completely unnecessary to get him to stare some more. "Clint? Clint Barton? His Majesty Clinton Francis Barton, second in line for the throne? Of the Heartland? The country we live in?"

She makes an 'I can't believe we live on the same planet' gesture with her hands and goes back to restocking.

It hits him. "Oh. Oh," Phil says, shocked. "Well. I...I do remember thinking you looked familiar."

The situation has apparently not dissuaded Clint, whose shoulders are starting to shake as he laughs into his hat. He wipes at an eye and shakes his head.  "Well. It explains a lot. No wonder you asked me out with a cup of coffee."

"Why is that weird?"

Clint gestures at himself and shrugs one shoulder- his rigid formality. "I'm a prince. People think I need grand gestures for some reason. So, um. You still hungry?"

Phil’s smile is surprised. "You still want to-?

Clint grins. "Don't make me start calling you fairy tale names," he warns, leading the way to the door. He holds it open for Phil, throwing in the most ridiculous chivalrous pose he could manage.

 

* * *

 

When Phil comes into work the next day looking deliriously happy, Skye promptly punches him in the arm. She's gotten better at punching him overnight, it stings enough for him to say, "Ow! What'd I do?"

She's pouting as she windexes the pastry case clean with. "That whole time, you probably thought I was acting like that because I was thinking, 'wow Phil, you got a hot guy, how crazy is that!' This one was a prince, damn it, I know you could get a hot guy. And now, you're literally like, part of a fairy tale. Except he didn't take you to the ball, you rescued the introverted prince from the ball. Did he take you out for pasta and roll the last meatball to your side of the plate?”

Phil was grinning by the time she was done, leaning over and hugging her around the shoulders. "It was closed. We got McDonald's."

Skye's expression flickered between impressed and shocked. "You took the Prince to MickeyD's?"

"I took him, actually," Clint walked up to the register in his jogging clothes. His eyes slide firmly to Phil’s and they hold each other’s gaze. He grins and adds a, “Hey.”

Phil echoes it back with the same tone and a similar smile. Skye just says, “ _Oh my god_ ,” and runs back to the bar.

Never more grateful for their slow foot traffic, Phil leans against the counter and asks him how his day has been. 

**Author's Note:**

> shoutout to my job which made this prompt so much harder but also easier to write.  
> shoutout to clark gregg for posting that short video of scaring chloe with a clown mask which somehow made it infinitely possible to write this  
> shoutout to a slightly longer, clint-pov part 2 eventually


End file.
